Perfect Moment
by Curry Buzz
Summary: There were a few times that Sam and Dean came close to crossing the line, and one time where they decided to jump over it. Pure Fluff/Weecest/Complete.


"This is stupid!" Sam cries for what feels like the hundredth time.

Dean grunts; he doesn't feel the need to reply _again_ for Sam to just deal with it. He grabs a pillow and moves from leaning at the top of the bed to the bottom of it, as if the space between the two of them will make it impossible to hear any more complaints. It's not his fault that Sammy can't appreciate the beauty of a model show. Okay, maybe he would if the models were girls, but a little brother of his should love cars any ways.

"Hey!" Dean shouts, glaring at Sam when the channel changes. "Back, shortie!"

Sam ignores him, leans boneless against the headboard, flipping through more channels.

Well, this calls for action.

Dean lurches, but Sam immediately raises the remote away. Dean has Sam's body pinned with his, reaching out his arm. Sam knows his older brother's arms are longer, so he hooks his legs around Dean's and throws all his weight and strength into a jerk.

It topples them both over the side of the bed. The harsh landing topped with Sam on top of him punches the air from Dean's lungs, and Sam laughs. Dean grins back, and they're at it.

Dean would always win if he didn't go easy half the time, but since he does, every now and then Sam can get the drop on him. He's fifteen, and finally hitting his long promised growth spurts that he tries to use to his advantage. It doesn't work. Dean is still bigger.

Sam pushes, and Dean pushes back. They're laughing and out of breath quick, barely keeping the other from getting a winning pin. They manage to push the mattress half off the bed, and the lamp nearly hits Dean on its trip to the floor. It just makes them laugh harder.

Dean gets a hold of one of Sam's arms, flips them, and pins him on his back to the ground. Sam wraps his legs tight around Dean's waist to keep him from stretching and reaching the remote held safely away in his free arm. Sam's giggling, and Dean is devious.

He pushes his hand under Sam's loose grey tee, and wait- no- that's Dean's, the little bastard must have snatched it from his duffle- and tickles without mercy.

Sam gasps and tries to arch away, but there isn't anywhere to go. He gives in, hand coming back to yank the offending hand away from his tummy.

"No!" Sam shrieks, voice full of glee, and that only makes the game more fun. He manages to dodge Dean and free his other hand. He pushes up, wrapping his arms around his older brother's neck; his hands safely away from any reach Dean's own could get.

"Give it!" Dean demands. He places both his hands threatening on the skin of Sam's hips. "Maybe, just maybe, I'll have mercy."

There are tears in Sam's eyes from the earlier laughter. Dean can see every detail of his irises and lashes; they're pressed in close. Closeness isn't unusual for the Winchester brothers.

Their foreheads leaned on each other, and their noses brushed with the slightest movement of their heads. Dean's gaze dropped to Sam's parted lips; he watches as Sam breathes heavily, waiting for the attack. Dean's mind isn't on the remote or the wrestling anymore; it's on Sam. When are his thoughts not covered in Sam?

He's known for a while now that he shouldn't keep Sam so close. They tiptoe the line too often, stay in each other's space far too much. He can't help it. Sam's laugh, his passion, his geeky studious know-it-all behavior, everything pulls him back in the second he even thinks about pulling away.

Sam shifts, anxious. Dean's hands on him feel like fire, and he doesn't care that he's lost. Dean will tickle him and eventually Sam will cave, and his cocky older brother will have the remote. That wasn't the point, Sam doesn't remember the point. He tracks the freckles going across Dean's face, and he chuckles again, pushes in closer so their noses are planted side by side.

They're so close. Sam's arms are no longer placed to keep the remote at an optimal distance, but draped lazily around Dean's neck. Dean catches his eyes again. While Dean's hands slide from his hips to around his back, Sam's eyes close.

He thinks that this is it. They'll kiss. It wasn't just in his head all these years. The silence in these past few moments strengthens the shock from the television.

"_Oh, yeah! Harder! Give it to me harder, baby!"_

Dean freezes, and Sam's eyes blink open. When more profanities rise from the T.V., Sam falls back and laughs.

"You put it on porn?!" Dean yells incredulous.

Sam tries to stutter out that he didn't mean to, but he can't through his laughter.

"Why is that even on at this time of day!" Dean's shouts only make Sam laugh harder. Dean starts to laugh too, insulting his brother who can't tease back.

Sam laughs until he cries, and Dean wipes away his tears. They lay too close on the bed that night wrapped up and smothered in one another.

* * *

Sam's chewing on his nails. That's not something he does, but once he's bitten one down as far as it'll go, he moved on to the next finger.

"Okay, enough!" Dean says as he picks up a pillow and hits Sam with it. "What's wrong?"

Sam pales, "What?"

"You're devouring your nails like a troll does babies!" Dean grabs Sam's hand, turning it towards him to inspect the damage. He's not bleeding, so it's fine for now.

"Trolls aren't rea- trolls are _real?_" Sam straightens up, gaping. "They eat babies? What? Dean, you-"

"Jesus Sam, watch a movie sometime," Dean cuts him off before Sam's imagination can get the better of them. He drops his brother's hand, crossing his arms and giving him an accusatory stare.

"Oh," Sam breathes. He stalls, but Dean doesn't move away. "So, what would you know about dancing?"

Dean hesitates, "Dancing?" he asks.

"Yeah," Sam says like it was obvious.

"Why're you up in knots about dancing?" Dean asks.

Sam rolls his eyes and looks away. Dean was forward about girls almost so much so that they sound like conquests half the time. Sam was shy, hesitant to tell his brother about it.

"Kathy Hanes," he finally mumbles. "She's a junior, and she asked me to this Spring… thing." He knew the name of it, but figured Dean would only poke fun if he knew.

"Oh," Dean shakes his head, digs his hand into his pockets awkwardly. "Well, I ain't ever been to a dance either, Sammy."

"Yeah, but," Sam argues. Dean raises an eyebrow when he doesn't continue. "You're good with girls. You know things."

"Things," Dean laughs and cards his hand through his hair. He catches Sam's downcast eyes and grimacing lips. "Y-yeah, okay, dancing." He grins, cocky. "C'mere, then."

Sam eyes him wearily, little-brother suspicion thinly veiled, "Really?"

"Well, I'm not waiting around all day!" Dean complains. He motions with his hands for Sam to come over.

Sam does. He steps into Dean's space with ease like he always does, like he belongs there.

Dean clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, "It's just a school dance, so it's not like you have to learn the tango or something." Sam smiles at his joke, and Dean relaxes. "You just roll with the music. Hold her waist." Dean sneaks his hands to Sam's waist and rests them feather-light.

"There's no music," Sam whispers like it's a secret. The soft tone of his voice steers this away from educational.

"Pretend! You're a smart kid, Sam; I'm sure you can manage." Dean's harsh. He hopes it brings back little brother insolence. It doesn't.

"I'll be the guy, Dean. Shouldn't I be leading?" Sam's teasing him. He knows because Sam's arms are resting around his shoulders pliantly.

"Just pay attention to what I do. You can copy it." Dean yanks Sam close. He does it to be mean, but when Sam's body is pressed against his, he can't breathe right. Dean's chin settles on top of Sam's head, so he won't have to look at his baby brother's face.

Dean laughs, says, "At this point she'll probably rest her head on your shoulder like in a cheap romantic movie."

Sam doesn't respond; he's too relaxed against him, but he moves his head to Dean's shoulder. Dean realizes they're swaying, and wonder when that happened. It's too quiet, too close, and it feels too intimate.

"Okay. That's pretty simple. There're some moves you could try out for when there's a faster beat." The meaning is clear: Let's stop; let's separate. Sam should take a step back now, and they can make fun of each other while they try out some out-of-date moves.

"This is fine," Sam says instead.

Minutes pass, and Dean is afraid of the happiness that's in his chest. He rubs Sam's back to hear him sigh in pleasure, shifts his head to kiss at the brown hair that has been tickling him.

Sam finally leans back but not to get away. He smiles at Dean, and Dean thinks _shit._

Shit, because this is perfect. This is perfect, and Dean can't back away, and that's bad. So bad. Sammy's his little brother, but this is perfect.

There's a roar of an engine before it's cut off. Dean hears a slam of a car door just outside the motel room, and he knows it is Dad. He's frozen, and he looks back to Sam's eyes.

Sam's staring like he's daring him for something. Dean can't; his stomach flips, and he turns so fast that Sam almost gets knocked over.

"Should help out, Sammy," He calls as he head out the door to bring back in whatever Dad left with that morning. "Pull your weight!"

Dad asks him why he's sweating. He didn't even notice.

* * *

"You could have let me drive," Sam suggests again.

"I regret this," Dean says after a loud groan. He pulls off to the side of the road; they're far from the city where no lights can distract from the sky. "If I had known you'd do nothing but bitch about getting to drive the whole way down—"

Dean's cut off when Sam shoves him. He glares at his freshly sixteen year old brother, but it doesn't last, not with how Sam is grinning at him.

"Thank you," Sam stresses completely genuine. "This is awesome! I still could have driven, though." He pops out of the car before Dean can curse at him.

He's bouncing on his heels and staring at the sky. Dean shakes his head; Sam got worked up over the nerdiest things. Dean grabs the borrowed, not stolen, comforter from the backseat and heads out to the small patch of field off the road.

Sam is chatting away, nearly stepping on Dean's heels with every other trot, and Dean doesn't understand half of the gibberish Sam is spewing out about this meteor shower. He sets out the blanket and rolls onto his back, sighing.

"Oooh, flying rocks on fire through space. Exciting." Dean teases.

Sam gets his revenge by letting himself fall heavy on top of Dean. Dean yelps and Sam tells him he was worried he'd jumped on a kitten for a minute.

"This is the thanks I get for being an awesome big brother?" Dean asks in disbelief. He crosses his arms behind his head. "See if I ever do anything for you again, brat."

Sam only laughs, and he doesn't move away. He merely slides from on top of Dean to right next to him. His head is resting comfortably on Dean's arm put, halfway on his chest. One of his arms is dropped lazily across Dean's stomach.

Dean doesn't mind. The closeness is familiar and comforting.

When the meteor shower starts, Sam is fascinated. He keeps popping off facts as if Dean cares. He doesn't, but he loves the thrum of Sam's voice in his ears. He chuckles to himself, and soon Sam is silent. He watches the sky for a few minutes, before he decides to watch Sam instead. He has to change his position, but Sam moves with him.

Dean tries to move again, so Sam looks up. He matches Dean's grin with his own and props himself up, flipping onto his stomach.

"Thanks," he murmurs, "for being the best big brother."

It's a tease, but Dean takes it. He moves so he can caress Sam's cheek with his palm. It's cheesy and silly, and Sam should be watching the sky, that's why they drove thirty minutes in the first place. Sam is watching him, though, and now he's leaning down.

Dean thinks this is okay; it's not so scary when it's just Sam and him. Dad's an hour away, and Sam is warm on his skin.

His hand moves to the back of Sam's neck, and he's closing his eyes, and-

"You guys alright down there?"

Sam's laughing. He lets his body fall back down, turns toward the sky again.

"Uh, yeah," Dean yells back since Sam didn't. He feels annoyed.

"What're you youngins doin' down there?"

Sam's giggling, and Dean kind of wants to strangle the man.

"Watching the science sky thing!"

"The meteor shower," Sam says, digging his elbow into his side. Dean shrugs. He ignores the man's call to be safe. He ruined it. Whatever it was, whatever it was going to be.

They watch the rest of the meteor shower. Sam hugs him tightly, and when he chastely kisses Dean's neck, Dean pretends not to notice.

* * *

Today was good.

Dad brought them out to shoot guns and train; Sam didn't complain. He actually seemed to enjoy himself. It was summer break, so he didn't have to miss any school. He joked and teased not only with Dean but also with Dad.

They ate dinner together without an argument. That was odd for the days when they were all together. Sam was a hormonal teenager, and he didn't get why Dean and Dad had to do the things they did. Dean was convinced he'd get it when he was old enough.

When they got to the motel, Dean wanted to watch T.V. and goad Sam into wrestling some more, but Sam only wanted to finish his book. That was good too. Dean loved watching the expression change on Sam's face when the plot obviously twisted.

This was good, too. Sam's completely relaxed and innocent face while he slept.

Dean smiles. He pushes the bangs away from Sammy's eyes so he can look at his lashes. He isn't one for chick flicks, but today was something from a dream.

So he wraps his arms around his brother and pulls him close. He nuzzles his head against Sam's, breathes him in. He's near sleep when Sam's groggy voice is in his ear.

"What're you doing?" Sam groans.

"Sleeping. Try it out." Dean mumbles back, lips brushing on Sam's shoulder.

Sam tries to incline his head toward Dean, but Dean won't budge. He shifts and complains, "Heavy."

Dean's sigh is annoyance as he moves back a few inches. Their faces are barely separated, but neither brother cares. It's quiet for a few minutes.

"God, Dean, did you forget to brush your teeth?" Sam's face is scrunched up, yet he doesn't move away.

"Deal with it." Dean grumbles. He pinches Sam's arms when he starts to whine again.

"Gross," He says. Dean opens his eyes to find Sam's half-lidded.

"Careful," Dean says, "Face is gonna get stuck like that."

Sam frowns harder, "Go brush your teeth."

"No."

"Then turn around." Sam presses.

"Nah."

"Dean!" Sam whines. He kicks to get Dean off him and tries to turn, so Dean tightens his grip and gets in closer. He opens his mouth wide and breaths out into Sam's face.

"Gross! Dean, stop! Get off!" Sammy's squirming now, and it's hilarious. Dean's laughing.

He hides his head in Sam's neck and says, "No."

Sam stops wiggling, and Dean feels hesitant hands slide up his back. "You're heavy," Sam whispers, "you can't sleep on top of me."

"Can't tell me what to do, Sammy," Dean teases and raises his head, looking down at his brother, "I'm a rebel."

Sam huffs. Dean watches. He always watches. He catches the way Sam's eyes dart from his eyes to his lips, and he licks them just to draw more attention.

"Dean," Sam starts, but he doesn't finish.

Dean smiles and kisses Sam's cheekbone, just because he can. He waits and kisses Sam's jaw. Sam's lips part.

"Dean? Are you awake?" Their dad's voice is soft but demanding from the adjourned living room.

Sam's eyes are on him again, all heat.

"Yeah," Dean calls. He kisses Sam's forehead before he gets up and goes to their father. He's self-conscious, knows Sam's eyes are on him until he's out of sight.

* * *

The fifth time that Dean shoves his foot onto Sam's book; Sam grabs his toe hard and twists.

"Ow! Damn! No need to be stingy, Sam!" Dean yelps, yanks until he has his foot free.

Sam scowls and closes his book, "No need to pollute the book with your feet, Dean!"

Dean scoffs and leans against his side of the couch, "You're so boring over there. Being studious. There's an arcade, like, two blocks over that we could crash."

"I am having fun; you can go." Sam says. He slides the book on the table when he sees Dean's foot being brought back up.

Sam's 'don't' goes ignored as Dean pushes his foot into his younger brother's face. Sam grabs the ankle and holds it tight to his chest, so Dean can't assault him with it anymore. Dean brings the other foot into the equation.

"How is studying fun?" Dean asks, grinning as he avoids Sam's grabbing hands for his other foot.

"I'm not studying." Sam points out. He finally turns on the couch to face Dean still holding one foot hostage.

"I forgot. You're a geek." Dean says without malice and shoves his feet in Sam's face. It was obvious, and Sam finally has a grasp on both feet.

"At least I'm not a jock," Sam says.

"Hey," Dean says in mock defense, "I wasn't a jock. I never did any sports. I was a free loader."

"Nah, you were cocky in high school. Definitely fit right in with the jocks." Sam laughs when Dean tries to jerk his feet away, and he holds tighter.

"You love it," Dean declares, and Sam doesn't refute which makes him grin.

Sam's looking at his feet with his brow furrowed while he bites his lip.

"Didn't know my feet were that interesting," Dean says instead of asking what Sam's thinking. Sam still doesn't respond. He looks up, stares at Dean instead. Dean raises an eyebrow, and Sam must have taken that as an invitation because he comes closer, practically in Dean's lap now.

"Comfortable?" Dean inquires. Sam shifts so he's sitting properly on Dean now, and he rests his hand on Dean's shoulders.

Dean looks up at him and smiles. He's about to say something, but the smile gives Sam courage. He grabbed Dean's face roughly and he's kissing him before he can chicken out. They don't move. Sam loosens his grip and pulls back a few seconds later.

"That wasn't very brotherly," is all Dean can think to remark.

Sam is laughing, but he also looks close to tears. He reaches up and pulls Sam back down so they can kiss again. It was the reassurance his brother seemed to need; his entire body went lax and his hands loosely settled on Dean's neck. Dean strokes Sam's back and his hair. Smiles with Sam whenever he leans back. Smiles more when Sam comes back in.

"This feels strangely anti-climactic." Dean remarks.

Sam snorts, "You kept fucking up."

"What?!" Dean shrieked. He sat up straighter, ready to argue, but Sam's laughter quelled him.

They didn't need a perfect moment. They just need each other.


End file.
